


The King's Champion

by CreamyXD



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, BAMF Merlin, Fluff, M/M, Morgana is good
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-01
Updated: 2018-05-17
Packaged: 2019-02-26 00:51:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 18,092
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13224750
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CreamyXD/pseuds/CreamyXD
Summary: The Tournament. That's all the game is known by. It's a famous game, one where you can drink and gamble to your hearts content. But to the sorcerers who are forced to fight day after day it's more than just a game, more than just a show to watch and bet on. To them, it's a matter of life and death. A game in which you must gamble your life, whether you want to or not.When Uther Pendragon is invited by King Alden to the Kingdom of Cambria to watch the famed Tournament he's all too happy to accept. Arthur, however, doesn't share his father's enthusiasm. As the prince does all he can to keep Morgana's magic a secret from the two kings he finds someone else he needs to worry about; a contender of the tournament named Merlin.





	1. Welcome to the Kingdom of Cambria

The slow clip clop of hooves hitting the dirt can be heard across the forest, making the animals turn and scurry out of the way of the stallions as they wind their way through the underbrush. The riders, adorned with their red capes and golden emblems, all smile and laugh amongst one another as they follow the worn trail. Servants walk alongside their masters, keeping to themselves as they gaze at the vast expanse of plant and wild life around them while occasionally bending down to pick up a dropped bag or two. The king, with his son and ward following just a few paces behind him, rides in the centre of the group. He has his chin held up high as he rides through the forest, giving off a presence of leadership and authority that none could defy. The servants scuttle around him nervously, constantly asking whether he wished to rest or have a drink, but he always brushes them off, much too eager to reach their destination to want to stop.

Arthur, on the other hand, would love nothing more than to turn around and return home where he could sleep in a proper bed, however after seeing the way his father had all but leaped from his throne when he received the letter of invitation from the King of Cambria he had no choice but to follow along with the man's wishes.

The prince lets out a groan as Gwaine, being the loudmouth he is, begins another one of his tavern tales with enthusiasm that never seems to disappear. He catches Morgana smirking at him from her horse beside him, clearly amused at his torture while she chats merrily away with Gwen who rides on the back of Lancelot's horse.

"What's with the sour face?" Morgana whispers from her horse with a smile, kicking at the prince's boot.

Arthur frowns at her, kicking her back from his own horse though she manages to veer out of the way with a mocking smirk. "Nothing, it's just..." he glances towards the knight beside him who's far too engrossed in his storytelling to notice he's lost the prince's attention, "...Gwaine."

Morgana giggles, patting him lightly on the shoulder. "Don't worry, we're almost there. Just survive for a few more hours."

"And don't worry," Elyan calls out, coming up from behind them, "we'll be sure to give you a proper burial if he does bore you to death." He sends the prince a wink before turning to chat with his sister and future brother-in-law.

Morgana laughs at the remark before turning back to Arthur, "Aside from Gwaine, you should at least act a bit more excited," she says with a smile, "It's a new place and we've never visited Cambria before. Maybe they'll have some strong knights for you to fight."

Arthur scoffs, "They won't have any I can't beat. Besides, why are you excited? I thought you would be dreading this visit?"

Morgana shifts a little in her seat, sending a glare towards Uther that looked as though she were ready to kill him right then and there. "I am. I'm far from excited to watch this... Tournament," she says the last word in a venomous tone.

Arthur looks over to Uther who rides a short distance ahead of them both. He's whistling to himself, a wide smile on his face as he gazes at the scenery around him. The prince shivers a little at the sight. Even he has rarely seen Uther so... happy? Excited? No... it's neither happiness nor excitement he sees on his father's face. It's bloodlust. Pure, unadulterated, bloodlust.

Arthur slows his horse, pulling further back behind his father while gesturing for Morgana to follow. She raises an eyebrow at him before dropping back as well, steering her horse in close before whispering, "What's wrong?"

"Are you sure you want to go?" Arthur asks in a hushed voice, "Considering your..." he gestures flamboyantly with his hands, "...abilities."

Morgana stiffens, quickly sending a glance to Uther who hasn't heard a word before turning back to Arthur. "And make myself look even more suspicious? Uther has almost caught me using... it... twice now. He's already disappointed that I show such sympathy to... them. I can't risk this. If I don't go he'll have my head."

Arthur watches her with concern, eyes moving from Morgana to Uther than back again before sighing. "You're right, but," he points a finger in her direction, voice stern, "you need to keep a low profile. One wrong move and you'll find yourself thrown in the Tournament."

Morgana's eyes grow dark at the words. She grits her teeth, clearly suppressing the urge to argue back, but upon seeing the worry lining Arthur's face she finds herself nodding reluctantly. "I'll try."

The prince sends her a smile, patting her on the shoulder before turning his attention back towards Gwaine only to find that he somehow is still talking.

——

The sun is about to set by the time the procession arrives at the front gates of Cambria. Numerous guards line the walls and surround the gates, leaving the prince with an uneasy feeling as the guards, adorned in capes the colour of the forest with the emblem of a silver snake, open the doors for the group to enter.

Arthur's eyes are immediately drawn towards the large arena that sits in the centre of town. The high walls can be seen even from the edge of the city, towering up above the other houses and business in the nearby vicinity. The walls are made of a white stone, forming a ring around what the prince presumes to be the arena. Engravings of knights in armour fighting dragons or monsters adorn the sides of the walls. There are carvings of armies charging one another, knights battling with swords and corpses piling high. The closer Arthur approaches the arena the more nervous he feels. There's a strange atmosphere emitting from the structure, one that makes him sink down in his seat and want to hide in a corner. He can almost see the blood that must have spilled within its walls and the thought forces him to look away.

Arthur lets out a breath of relief when they finally move past the arena, feeling the weight lift from his chest as he turns to gaze back at the structure. He doesn't even want to begin imagining what could have happened within its walls, and yet, here he is, visiting the kingdom for the sole purpose of watching the famed Tournament which is hosted in that very arena.

When the group finally enter the courtyard Arthur is finally able to see the castle in all its glory, though if he were honest the castle is a far cry from the grandeur of the arena. It's smaller than the citadel in Camelot and looks to be older as well. The stones are a dark grey with various chips and scars on the rock, making the prince worry a little about the buildings structural integrity.

"Welcome, welcome!" A voice suddenly calls out from the front doors of the castle, interrupting Arthur's thoughts. An old man with greying hair and a kindly face walk out, dressed in fine robes befitting a king. A crown sits atop the man's head, showing his authority. "Ah! My dear friend! How long has it been?" The man asks while smiling at Uther with an hand outstretched.

Uther's face breaks open in a grin as he walks over to the old man, reaching out as he shakes the other king's hand. "Alden! It's been more than ten years now. I believe we last met at the battle against those rogue sorcerers."

Alden smiles, a memory seeming to surface in his mind. "Yes, yes. How could I forget? That battle changed the course of history!" The king claps Uther on the back, letting out a laugh before turning to look at Arthur who stands just a short distance behind his father. "Is this your boy? My, my he has grown! I remember when he was only a child."

Arthur smiles kindly at the man, shaking the King's offered hand. "It's a pleasure to meet you. I've heard much about you from my father," he says while glancing over to Morgana who doesn't bother hiding the utter disgust from her expression. Arthur moves to block her from view, hoping that she'll have composed herself before the king notices her presence.

Alden smiles, patting Arthur on the shoulder, "A well mannered boy. You'll make a fine king, just like your father. I can see you already! Charging into battle against dragons! Ah, though your father's already killed all the dragons..." the pair of kings let out a boisterous laugh, as though reminiscing about some old joke. Arthur just remains standing with his hands behind his back, hoping that neither of of the royals can see through the fake smile he has plastered to his face.

\-----

It's not until late into the night that Arthur manages to leave the castle. The Kings had chatted almost non-stop throughout the welcoming banquet, both laughing and drinking to their hearts content as they shared stories of their recent conquests, stories that almost always involved a dead sorcerer. Morgana had excused herself within the first hour, clearly disgusted at their talk, and had left Arthur alone with nothing but the constant boasting of King Alden about his famous Tournament, none of which he bothered to listen to. The prince had picked at his food and chatted briefly with one of the nobles sitting nearby when Gwaine, god bless the man, had come over to invite him out for a drink with the rest of the knights. Of course, the prince jumped at the chance to leave and quickly excused himself from the table.

Now, here he is following a few of the Camelot knights through the winding streets of the town. With their backs facing the arena, Arthur is finally able to properly take in the sights around him. The streets are dim at this time of night, with nothing lighting the paths but a few braziers that are kept alight by the roadside. From what he can see the town doesn't look very different from the lower town in Camelot. A few stalls are just starting to close shop and the owners send them all a wave as they walk past. Candle lights illuminate the windows of many of the houses while silhouettes of the occupants wander to and fro inside, readying for the night. Arthur smiles a little as he walks down the street, listening to the chatter of his knights just a short distance ahead of him and watching the moon rise in the distance. He can almost make himself believe that he's back home in Camelot, back home in the familiar roads of the lower town, but at the same time he can't. There's always an uncomfortable air around the town, a feeling of dread that he can't seem to shake and the thought terrifies him more than he'd care to admit.

"Here it is boys!" Gwaine calls out from the front of the group as he gestures to the doors of a tavern which Arthur isn't even sure how he managed to find. Then again, Gwaine seemed to have a sixth sense for alcohol so he didn't bother asking him how he had found the place. He just smiled and walked in after his knights, wanting nothing more than to get away from that dreaded feeling that's been haunting him since he first stepped foot into this kingdom.

It doesn't take long for Arthur to find himself sitting alone at their table while all but one of his knights have returned to the castle. The others had stayed only for a few drinks, most of them tired from their trip to Cambria, and so have already excused themselves before disappearing into the night. Gwaine though, refused to leave, and knowing the man's track record Arthur wasn't willing to leave him alone. So, he continues to sit at their table, drinking slowly from a tankard while Gwaine is at the other end, drinking and playing as comfortably with the locals as he would back home with the people in Camelot. The prince though couldn't quite find the will to enjoy himself. Despite the numerous drinks, he still can't shake the nervousness he feels. He finds himself glancing around the tavern, alert and aware of the movements around him as though he expects a man to leap out at him with a knife. No matter how much he keeps telling himself that there's nothing wrong he knows there is, knows there's something deeply wrong with this place.

"I saw that," Gwaine's threatening voice rises from above the dull chatter in the tavern and suddenly all heads turn towards the knight who looks noticeably drunk, "I saw what you did. You cheated! Admit it!"

Arthur turns his head, watching as the man Gwaine had just been playing, a rather muscular gentleman with a beard and a black mark poking out from underneath his collar, returns the accusation with a sneer. "I don't cheat. I play fair and square."

Gwaine, looking offended, takes a step closer to the bearded man. "Look mate, I saw ya cheat with my own two eyes. Admit it now and I'll let it slide."

The man rolls his eyes, laughing with his friends at Gwaine's obviously smaller stature. "How'd I know you aren't the one cheatin'?" The man asks, clearly wanting to pick a fight and before Gwaine can retort Arthur decides it's his responsibility to step in.

"Please, calm down," Arthur says, coming in between Gwaine and the other man, "I don't want to cause any trouble so let's end it here, alright?" The prince looks between Gwaine and the other man, both of whom have a scowl on their faces.

"Fine," Gwaine says with a pointed glare, apparently sober enough to see that he shouldn't be picking fights in a foreign kingdom, "for you, princess. No one else."

Arthur sends the man an apologetic smile before turning to go, but not before he hears a quiet chuckle behind him, "Heh, have a nice night princess," the man says with a laugh.

Arthur immediately stops in his tracks, spinning on his heel till he's once again face to face with the bearded man. He doesn't mind the nickname when it's coming from Gwaine, simply because that's how the knight is. He loves to tease, but never means any of what he says. Though he'd never say it to Gwaine's face, Arthur knows the knight has a strong sense of morality and would never insult anyone in such a way. This man, however, has just insulted his pride and he will not allow a peasant from some foreign kingdom treat the Pendragon name as such. "If you have something to say, then say it to my face," Arthur demands, eyes flaring with unspoken anger.

The man just laughs again, "Sure, princess."

Perhaps it's the alcohol, or perhaps it's just his anger, but Arthur finds himself pulling a hand back, ready to throw a punch when a new voice enters the fray and a cool liquid is splashed down onto his head, sending him stumbling backwards with wide eyes at what someone had just done. "Hey," the voice slurs out, clearly coming from someone far more drunk than anyone else here, "come on..." there's a pause as the boy seems to try and remember how to speak, "...that's enough. You've had your fun."

Arthur can feel his cheeks turning red with rage as he eyes the drunk in front of him. The boy had messy black hair and blue eyes that looked both bored and entertained at the same time. He's dressed casually in a simple grey tunic with brown trousers and a belt around his waist where a small dagger is strapped. The strangest thing about him though is the black marking that curves around his neck and down onto his collar, a tattoo of a snake. The boy smiles at him while an empty mug of mead, the one he had dumped atop the prince's head, is held aloft in his hand. He tries to take a swig from the tankard then seems to remember that he had just drained its contents on Arthur's head and decides to throw the cup aside. "Princess," the drunk called again and Arthur can hear Gwaine behind him start to advance forward, ready to defend his prince's honour.

"Look," Gwaine says, jabbing a finger at the tattooed man's chest. "I don't care where I am anymore. Insult the prince one more time and I'll send you straight to your grave."

The boy doesn't seemed fazed at all by the threat, instead he just grabs another tankard from one of the men behind him and takes another swig before wiping his lips with the back of his hand. "I'd like to see you try."

Gwaine charges, hand outstretched and this time Arthur isn't prepared to stop him. This boy would get what he deserved. However, instead of a hit the prince finds Gwaine flown sideways into a table, snapping it in half from the force. If they hadn't gained the entire taverns attention at this point they definitely have now.

The crowd behind the boy just cheers, laughing boisterously as he gives a little bow, tankard still in hand. He turns back towards Arthur, mocking the prince with a wiggle of his brows before taking another sip of his mead. Arthur, now more than just angered, has his hands curled into fists at his side. He pulls the boy towards him by the collar, wondering what he could legally do to him that wouldn't send him to be burnt at the stake. "You hurt my men and I'll be sure that you can't drink another tankard again," Arthur swats the drink out of the boy's hand, however before it can even drop to the floor the boy's eyes flash gold and the drink stops mid-fall, floating in the air.

Arthur stares at the cup, eyes wide as he pieces together what the boy must be. A sorcerer or perhaps a warlock like Morgana. His first instinct is to pull out his sword and run the boy through, however, aside from the fact that he doesn't have his sword with him, Arthur thinks of Morgana. She, and Gaius, have taught him so much about magic, about sorcerers, about what they do. They've helped to expand his view of the world and yet here he is thinking of killing a sorcerer again. Just like his father. Arthur looks down, feeling disappointed in himself, ashamed at the thoughts that had just run through his head. His grip loosens, and within an instant Arthur finds himself flipped onto a table, the warlock's elbow pressed against his neck as he leans over him. The tankard is once again back in his hand. He wiggles the cup in front of the prince, as though showing him that he had failed to spill his drink before draining the mug of it's contents. "I don't have any problems with you personally," the boy says, words even more slurred than before, "but see, I don't like my friends getting picked on."

Arthur tugs at the boys arm, only to find that, despite his small stature, he's strong. Much stronger than the prince would have thought. "Picking on your friends?" Arthur demanded, looking annoyed now, "Your friend insulted my honour!"

That seems to get the boy's attention. He turns around, elbow still pressed against Arthur's throat but not as roughly as before. "Kent!" he calls, making the bearded man from before turn to face him, smile still on his face, "did you insult this man's honour?"

The bearded man, Kent, laughs. "He had honour?" The crowd laughs at the joke and Arthur's about to wring the man's neck except he doesn't need to. Someone else beats him to it.

This time it's the bearded man who's flung across the room. The crowd stops laughing almost immediately. Kent gets to his feet, one hand holding onto the side of his head as he stares at the boy who has now moved off of Arthur and is sitting on the edge of the table, legs dangling off the side. "Don't bully people in my tavern," the boys says, now looking disappointed at his friends behaviour, "I thought that was a rule I've made quite clear."

Kent scrambles to his feet, a nervous and guilty smile on his face, then dashes out the door. Most of the crowd, seeing the sour mood that the tavern owner appears to be in, all turn to leave. Arthur moves over towards Gwaine, kneeling by the man's side only to find him out cold. The prince sighs, knowing that without his other knights with him he won't be able to carry Gwaine all the way back to the palace.

The sorcerer walks up behind him, tapping Gwaine with his foot before turning to look at Arthur. "Sorry about your friend," he says, "I thought he was the one causing trouble."

Arthur shakes his head, turning towards the black haired boy who still has that sour look on his face. "No, it's alright. This was partially my fault as well," Arthur says, trying to lift Gwaine from the remains of the table.

The tavern owner waves a hand and the table is suddenly fixed, the pieces appearing to have glued themselves back together. Arthur turns his eyes towards the boy, his guard subconsciously rising when he remembers that he's a warlock. And a warlock means that Arthur needs to be careful. Morgana may be a nice witch, but that doesn't mean they all are. "A sorcerer," Arthur says, looking the boy up and down, "that's a surprising thing to find here. Especially considering what's only a short distance away from your tavern."

The boy glances over to where the arena lies, eyes darkening for a moment before he turns back to Arthur. "Despite what you may think, there are many sorcerer's living in Cambria."

Arthur shrugs Gwaine onto his shoulder, straining a little under the man's weight. He should be glad that it wasn't Percival. He would never be able to carry Percival. The boy looks to Arthur, seeing the way he's struggling then moves to help him with Gwaine. "You're welcome to stay here for the night. I have some spare rooms upstairs," the boy says, already moving Gwaine towards the small staircase behind the bar counter.

"Are you sure?" Arthur asks, raising a brow.

"It's the least I could do for hurting your friend."

Arthur looks to the boy gratefully. "I won't be able to stay the night since my father would wonder where I am, but I would appreciate it if you could house him for the night."

The boy nods with a grin as they start to pull Gwaine up the stairs, legs dragging up the steps. "That's fine with me. Ah," the boy lets out a chuckle, "with all the commotion I forgot to mention. The name's Merlin."

"Merlin..." Arthur whispers the name under his breath. It's a strange name, one that most wouldn't hear even once in a lifetime. Yet, it's one that he finds rather suites the peculiar warlock. A smile crosses the prince's face. A smile that he hasn't been able to bring out since they reached the kingdom. "It's a pleasure to meet you Merlin. I'm Arthur Pendragon."


	2. Is That a Challenge?

The first thing Arthur hears as he approaches the main dining hall is the sound of laughter. Arthur frowns a little at the noise, feeling the effects of a hangover coming from the night before and the laughs aren't helping the pounding in his head. He pushes open the door to find Uther sitting at the head of the table with King Alden beside him, the two of them chatting over a meal. Morgana is seated around the corner of the table by Uther, looking more than a little relieved when Arthur walks in. The pair of kings don't seem to notice his entrance, too engaged in their conversation. 

Arthur takes the empty seat beside Morgana and puts his head in his hands, fingers rubbing at his temples. She gives him a smile, though it appears somewhat strained, and pushes a cup of water towards him. "My, my, someone must have had an exciting night," she teases. 

Arthur just groans in response, picking up the cup and taking a sip. He glances over to his father only to find the man now turned in his direction, a smile on his face. "Arthur! It's good of you to finally join us!" he says. 

Arthur sends his father a smile, sitting up straighter. "I apologize for my tardiness. I was feeling a little sick."

King Alden lets out a laugh, "No worries, my boy. The mead in Cambria is one of the best. I would be more surprised if you hadn't come back with a headache," the foreign king sends him a wink. 

Uther smiles at his old friend before turning back to Arthur, an excited glint in his eyes that the prince doesn't often see. "Alden has offered to give us a tour of the grand arena in a weeks time. I expect you'll both be joining us?" Uther asks, looking between the two of them. Despite his questioning tone Arthur knows that it's more of a demand rather than a question. 

Morgana visibly pales at the offer and Arthur can tell she's prepared to storm off before he gently nudges her with his boot. She glances towards him and he gives a slight shake of his head, a silent warning. "We would love to, father. I'm rather excited to see where one of the most famed tournaments in all the lands is hosted. And I want to see first hand what the fighters of Cambria are capable of." Arthur replies smoothly, smiling as best he can towards the foreign king as he feigns interest. 

Alden returns the smile, looking just as excited as Uther about the entire ordeal. "Ah, a true warrior at heart. I would love to see how your son fairs against my champion in the Tournament. However, the Tournament is reserved only for sorcerers. You wouldn't be allowed to participate," Alden lets out a laugh as though he found the thought of sorcerers fighting hilarious, "though perhaps I could set up a sparring match for the two of you. It would be good practice for you to face a sorcerer. Their kind can be tricky, and my champion is one of the best. Never lost a fight."

Morgana puts on a sweet smile and if Arthur didn't know her better he would think she's genuinely interested. "Your champion? A sorcerer? Isn't that dangerous?" she asks and the question seems to peak even Uther's attention.

"No need to worry, my dear. He's properly trained. I made sure of it." 

The way Alden says the words send a shiver down Arthur's spine. The hostility in his voice, so different than his usual cheerful demeanour, is enough to make the prince shift a little further away from the other king. He can feel that unease again. This time emanating from the king himself. He's always known what kinds of things happen in the Tournament. Everyone knows. The tales of the fights are spread far and wide mainly for entertainment. He remembers hearing about them as a child and back then he had always wanted to watch one himself. Sorcerers were evil. That's what his father had taught him. They were no less than monsters and to hear of an entire Tournament made for the sole purpose of watching one monster kill another was fascinating. He had wanted to see what they could do, wanted to see how he could beat them when he was old enough to fight. However, that all changed when one night he walked into Gaius' chambers to find Morgana seated at the table with a flame dancing across her palm because now he can place a face to the sorcerers he used to see as monsters and that made them seem much more human. 

Arthur looks to Morgana and can see the way she trembles at the man's words, fear crawling its way down her body as she meets the king's eyes and Arthur doesn't miss the way Alden's own stare seems to narrow in her direction. Arthur feels her hand grip at his wrist underneath the table, her fingers shaking as magic tingles against his skin. He rests his own hand on her own, trying to soothe her as he lets her know that she'll always have him on her side. No matter what. The action seems to calm her, seems to help her regain her bearings as she feigns a smile that always succeeds in making most men fall at her feet, though from the expression on Alden's face this king isn't most men. "And here I thought Uther was the most fearsome foe against magic," she says, trying to flatter the foreign king while Uther just chuckles, "you're losing your touch."

"Well, I may be good at taming my sorcerers however," Alden says as he pats Uther on the back, "no one can slay one like the King of Camelot!" The pair of king's laugh at his words, once again finding some old joke that neither the prince nor the ward can understand though they still smile regardless. When Alden's laughter finally slows he turns back to Morgana and Arthur, a grin on his face. "Do not worry my lady, when we tour the arena no harm will come to you. I'll be sure the sorcerers are kept in check, so I hope that you'll be joining us next week?"

Morgana smiles sweetly, "Of course, your highness. I wouldn't miss it for the world."

\-----

After breakfast Arthur quickly makes his back towards the tavern, knowing that if he doesn't go to pick up Gwaine himself the man would never leave. Now that the sun is up the town is awake and lively, very different from what he had seen the night before. People stream out of their houses, shops open, and children come out to play in the streets. If not for the arena in the distance he may have enjoyed his walk towards the tavern. 

Arthur hesitates a little before opening the door, seeing that the tavern was closed. However when he pulls the handle he finds that the door swings open easily, allowing him in. The first thing he hears when he enters is Gwaine's laughter. The prince walks in with a brow raised, wondering what's going on inside. The tavern is empty aside from Gwaine and Merlin who are both at the bar. Gwaine is seated at the bar counter, a plate of bread and sausages in front of him while he holds a tankard of ale in his hand towards Merlin who stands behind the counter, cleaning a goblet. Arthur's a little more than impressed with the knight's ability to stave off a hangover so quickly, but then again if he drank a tavern dry every night he's sure that a hangover wouldn't bother him much anymore either. 

The bartender, Merlin, is the first to notice him enter. He gives the prince a wave, a smile on his face while setting the goblet he had just been cleaning down on the counter in front of an empty seat. Arthur slips into the spot beside Gwaine and sends the sorcerer a smile. "I hope he hasn't been bothering you too much," Arthur says as Merlin fills the goblet with some water which the prince is grateful for. He isn't ready for anymore mead. 

"I've learned that filling him with ale keeps him quite, or at least as quite as possible," Merlin says with a smirk as he refills Gwaine's tankard, much to the drunk's glee. "So he's kept out of trouble." 

The knight takes a long swig from his mug before pointing a finger at Merlin, "I like this one," he says to Arthur, words slightly slurred, "he actually listens to my stories and enjoys them."

Arthur rolls his eyes, turning to look at Merlin before whispering, "You know you don't have to listen to his stories..."

The boy laughs, a light hearted laugh that manages to make the prince smile despite the worries that plague his mind. "I know, but as a tavern owner that's part of the job," he says with a shrug. 

"I can hear you both!" Gwaine says, a frown on his face as he chews angrily on a piece of bread. "If you don't like my stories then tell me..." 

Merlin just grins wickedly, "It's the truth," he says before turning around to continue cleaning. 

Arthur watches the boy as he works, eyes drifting down then up. The sorcerer's wearing a blue tunic this morning with the same belt and dagger strapped to his waist. The tattoo of the snake pokes out from around his neck, the creatures eyes appearing to stare at him from its tight hold around the boy. The prince feels a familiar tremble run down his spine as he eyes the snake, as though he were expecting it to come to life and attack. He doesn't notice how long he's staring until Merlin turns around, a frown on his face as he immediately tugs his tunic up higher in an attempt to hide the mark. "Did you need something?" he asks, voice cold and Arthur almost thinks the boy is an entirely different person. 

"Oh, um..." Arthur looks away shyly, glancing to Gwaine who seems to have also noticed the sudden change in the normally cheerful sorcerer. "I was just wondering about..." Arthur points to his own neck, indicating with a finger the general area of the boy's mark. 

Merlin walks forward and places both hands on the table, eyes narrowed at the prince and his knight. Arthur doesn't miss the way his goblet seems to tremble on the table or how the rest of the bottles on the shelf rumble as though responding to the warlock's anger. Gwaine swallows, shifting backwards in his seat while Arthur questions his life choices. Arthur is a knight, a prince. A fierce warrior who has fought wars. Yet, here he is almost cowering in his boots at a bartender, albeit a magical bartender, but a bartender nonetheless. There's something in the boy's eyes, something that frightens him almost as much as Alden. 

"That is none of your business," Merlin says, with a low growl.

Gwaine holds up his hands in surrender, "I'm sorry if the princess offended you," he says, shooting Arthur a warning look that told him to keep his mouth shut for now, "but we aren't from here and he was just curious. That's all. We've never seen something of the sort before."

Merlin regards them both with suspicious eyes before sighing. The goblets stop clattering against the table. The bottles on the wall still behind the boy as he turns back around, again tugging a little at his tunic as though trying to hide the mark though without much luck. "No, I'm sorry for getting angry. That was... unprofessional of me." Despite his apology Arthur doesn't fail to notice how his shoulders are tense, unlike before. He isn't as relaxed. His posture is stiff. Rigid. 

Arthur leans forward in his seat, feeling more than just a little bit guilty about the incident. He looks at the boy's back, still able to see the snake poking up from underneath his tunic and again wonders why it's there. If Merlin tries to hide it, then why does he have it in the first place? Perhaps it's a mark for sorcerers? So the king can identify who they are? However, this time he doesn't let his curiosity get the better of him. He keeps his mouth shut, choosing to just sip carefully from his goblet as he waits for Gwaine to finish. 

It doesn't take long for Merlin to recover from the incident, though not fully. From what Arthur can see he's still tense, still troubled by Arthur's question, but he's back to chatting with the both of them and Arthur can only take that as a positive sign. 

"So why are you both here? No, that's a stupid question," Merlin says with a look between the two of them, "I can probably guess why you're here."

Gwaine just smirks devilishly, always up for a bet, "Oh? Then why?"

"To watch the Tournament," Merlin says, simply and without as much hesitation as Arthur would have thought from a sorcerer. "It starts in a week and you both look like..." he waves a hand at the two of them as he tries to find the word, "...knights of some kind. I'm assuming you came to watch my kin kill one another." There. There was the bite in his words. The clear disapproval of all of this. 

Arthur frowns with a shake of his head, "Though I can't deny that the reason why we're here is to watch the Tournament I can assure you that we don't find any enjoyment in it," he says, not bothering to hide the venom from his own words as Gwaine nods beside him. "It's disgusting. A true tournament is meant to demonstrate and test your skills as a fighter. It's not some game where you gamble and bet on who the last one left alive is. And it certainly isn't made to allow others to watch people kill one another on purpose."

The prince finds his eyes searching the expression on Merlin's face, wondering whether or not he had said the right things. He doesn't know why, but he wants the boy to accept him, to consider him as an ally rather than a threat. Perhaps it's just his father's teachings telling him that he needs to be well liked by the people, or maybe he truly wants to befriend the tavern owner. Whatever the reason he searches the sorcerer's face for any sign that he may have said something wrong, but he spots nothing. Just a quizzical look from the warlock that seems to say he doesn't quite believe them. "Then why did you come watch? No one's forcing you," Merlin says, clearly still trying to determine whether they're friend or foe. 

This time Gwaine is the one who answers, "Cause the princess here needs to follow around his dear old papa," he smirks at his own words before Arthur smacks him upside the head, though he's honestly glad for the sarcastic remark. It managed to lighten the mood of the room. 

Merlin chuckles at the scene, "I think he's a little too old to still be following his father around."

"Not when you're a prince," Gwaine quips before Arthur hits him again, the prince's face flushing red with embarrassment. 

"Prince?" Merlin says, looking slightly amazed, "Of where?"

Arthur straightens up now, the pride of his family name forcing him to act regal. "Prince of Camelot," he says proudly, trying to not look smug while failing miserably, "home to the strongest warrior in the land."

Gwaine leans across the counter, "He means himself," the traitorous knight whispers with a snicker, "a pompous prince, ain't he? And I have to serve him!"

Merlin laughs, making Arthur curse the knight beside him to drown in a bottle of ale one day before deciding against it. Gwaine would be happy if that happened. "A real prat for sure," the sorcerer says with a grin before leaning over the counter as well, eyes alight with something like anticipation. "Strongest in all the land you say?" Merlin looks him up and down, the action making Arthur rather uncomfortable, "how confident are you about that?"

At this point it's too late for Arthur to turn back, not that his words are a lie anyways, and so he holds his chin up high. "I have yet to find a man who can beat me in a fight, so I would say I'm fairly confident. No knight from anywhere can best me."

Merlin raises an eyebrow in challenge, "No knight may best you, however I think a certain bartender beat you rather easily last night."

The prince slams his goblet down on the counter, pointing a finger at the sorcerer as his own eyes shine with the idea of a challenge. "Oh, I wasn't prepared last night. My mind was preoccupied. In a fair fight I could take you apart in one blow."

Merlin gives a knowing smirk, tilting his head to the side as he stands up straighter, "Oh, I could take you apart with less than that."

Arthur raises a brow, downing his drink and getting up from his seat. He spreads his arms out wide as he walks backwards, welcoming a challenge. "Well, why don't we see for ourselves?"

Gwaine watches the two with an amused grin, shifting away as Merlin vaults over the counter, landing in front of Arthur. There's a glint in Merlin's eyes, one that is reflected on Arthur's own. Merlin reaches a hand out and two brooms fly into his hand. "A fair fight," he says as he tosses one of the brooms to Arthur before kicking the end off with his foot so he's left with nothing but the wooden handle which he twirls in his hand. "I won't use magic." Arthur grins, doing the same until they're both brandishing the handle as a weapon. 

Arthur keeps his eyes on the warlock, watching the way he moves, studying how he holds himself. He keeps his guard up, knowing that despite his cocky attitude that a fight is a fight. He shouldn't underestimate his opponent no matter who they are. There's no sound as they watch each other, waiting for someone to make a move. Just as Arthur takes a small step forward Merlin launches towards him. The rest of their spar becomes a blur in his mind. His body moves on its own like a practiced knight, dodging, parrying, and striking whenever the opportunity comes. He finds himself calculating his next move, trying to anticipate Merlin's actions and counter them as best he can, but almost always he finds himself just narrowly dodging a strike that he didn't expect. The blood rushes through his veins, pumping him full of energy as he ducks, kicks, and swipes at his opponent. He almost catches the sorcerer a number of times, but he never manages to land a hit, just as Merlin never manages to land one either. 

One misstep. That's all it takes for Arthur to feel the weapon strike him in the abdomen, knocking the breath from his lungs and force him down onto the ground, Merlin towering over him with the broom handle pointed towards his neck. 

Arthur takes in a deep breath, getting the air back into his lungs before looking up at the warlock's playful smile. Despite his own loss Arthur finds himself letting out a tired laugh. "I stand corrected," he says, staring up at Merlin and his tousled hair, "though I'm still the second strongest warrior in all the lands. Soon to be first."

Merlin laughs at his words, moving the weapon away from Arthur's neck as he rests it on his shoulder, extending his other hand for Arthur. The prince gladly takes the offered hand, finding it to be rather calloused like his own, before getting to his feet and dusting himself off. 

Gwaine has finished his mead at this point and is looking between the two of them with a grin. "Well, I would be lying if I said I didn't enjoy watching you lose. It seems you finally met your match princess," he teases.

Arthur rolls his eyes at the drunk while Merlin chuckles, "I have to admit that you're a tough opponent Arthur," he wipes the sweat off his brow, grinning, "I haven't enjoyed a fight this much in a long time."

The prince smiles at the boy, nodding in agreement. "I have to say the same for you. However, next time I'll win."

Merlin turns to face him, a raised brow and smirk on his face. "Oh? Then I look forward to facing you again soon, prince Arthur."


	3. Like You and I

Morgana wanders about in the lower town of Cambria, browsing the merchant stores with Gwen and Lancelot by her side as she tries to take her mind off of her problems. Morgana had wanted nothing more than to escape the walls of the castle, feeling suffocated inside by the nerve wracking presence of the foreign king seemingly around every corner. They've only been in the kingdom for a night and yet she already feels as though the man knows all her secrets, knows exactly what to say to make the words disappear from her throat. She couldn't stand it, she couldn't stand being in that castle especially when Arthur has run off to who knows where right after breakfast. 

With a sigh Morgana picks up a fine cloth from one of the stands, fingering the fabric in curiosity as she stares at her reflection in the mirror, wondering how it would look as a dress. There's going to be a feast soon when the Tournament starts in a weeks time. Perhaps she can have a dress tailored with the cloth? She turns, about to ask Gwen for her opinion only to spot her at a flower stand next to Lancelot, the two smiling and giggling to each other as the latter points to a bouquet. Seeing the two Morgana can't stop the small quirk of her lips. Though she is a little sad that she's losing her best friends attention at least Gwen is happy and that's all she can ever really ask for.

Morgana looks away from the pair, deciding to give them some privacy as she skirts to another nearby stand. She flips through a few of the cloths before she feels an arm being slung around her shoulder, tugging her away from the stand. She frowns, turning around to meet the face of a man with a devilish smirk across his lips. 

"Hello there," he says, sending her a wink that sends a shiver down her spine. 

"Um... good day to you," she says nervously, carefully removing herself from his grasp. Now that she has a proper look at him she finds the man dressed in armour with a green cape around his shoulders. Even without the armour she can tell by his attitude that this man is a knight, clearly not the chivalrous kind, but rather the kind that felt they had a right to everything because they're one of the king's men. She had known these types of knights before, Arthur had been one after all. 

The intruding knight tries to snuggle up closer to her again, as though he found her avoidance of him to be a challenge rather than rejection. "I've never seen you around before. How about I take you around the town?" the man says with a smile. 

Morgana flashes her own smile back, trying to be as kind as she can. "No, it's quite alright. I have a guide."

The knight frowns, glancing around as he searches for the aforementioned guide. "Well, he must not be a very good guide to leave such a lovely lady alone on her own."

Morgana tries to shove him gently away, despite knowing that she could probably beat him easily, however she's in a foreign kingdom and it's best for her to refrain from making a scene. "I'm sorry, but I have to decline. I wish you luck on your endeavours." As she turns to go the man grasps her wrist, clearly not liking 'no' for an answer. 

"I am a knight and you shall listen to what I say," he demands, a sneer on his face now as the mask of false honour falls away. 

Morgana just returns the glare, prepared to defend herself when suddenly another hand comes out from the bustling crowd, grabbing the hand of the knight by his wrist. A young man with curly brown hair and a tattoo of a raven on his collar steps out from the crowd, baring down on the knight with a look that promises much more than a simple broken wrist. The newcomer sends Morgana a smile and a slight bow, "Hello, m'lady. The names Mordred. Is this man bothering you?" He says as he squeezes hard on the knight's wrist, not relenting until the man lets go and turns to glare at the boy. 

"I hope you have a good excuse for your actions," the man says, glaring, "Now tell me what you're doing." 

The brunette tilts his head to the side, as though a little amazed at the question. Whether that amazement comes from the simple stupidity of the question or something else Morgana will never know. "I would think a knight would know best of all that you should never treat a lady in such a crude manner," Mordred replies, looking to Morgana with a smile again, "even if that knight is one of the lowest in the flock."

The knight seethes at the boy's words, pulling a fist back in preparation for a strike. Even though Morgana doesn't doubt that the boy can defend himself she still finds her instinct acting first at the sight of a threat. She reaches out, grabbing the man's arm and quickly throws him down on the ground, much to his surprise. Mordred looks down at the fallen knight, an amused smirk on his face. "Well, it seems my aid wasn't needed," he says as the man starts to scramble to his feet. Mordred smiles at Morgana and she can't help but return the gesture. 

"I appreciate you coming to help," she says, though she starts to feel a little uncomfortable as the crowd around them turns to look in their direction. A few point at them while more guards start to approach, curious about the source of the commotion. She glances around, wondering if there's anywhere she can run when Mordred reaches out to grasp her hand.

"This way," he says, gently tugging on her arm to follow as he pulls her into the crowd before the guards are able to catch a proper look at either of them. They barrel through the streets, laughing to themselves as they look back to see the knight from early flapping his arms while trying to describe his 'attackers' to his fellow guards. 

Neither of them stop running until they reach a tavern and at first Morgana tries to pull her fellow accomplice to a stop when she sees the 'closed' sign hanging on the door. However, she hardly gets the chance as Mordred bursts in, disregarding the sign entirely. He's still laughing as they dash inside, shutting the door behind them with a snicker. He looks to the front of the tavern and gives the occupants a wave. "Good morning, Merlin," he says cheerily. 

The one Morgana assumes to be Merlin sighs, eyeing the both of them as he takes a drink from a goblet. "Mordred," he says in greeting, sending the boy a nod, "I thought I told you not to burst in here unannounced."

Mordred just smiles as he strolls in, clearly feeling at home in the little tavern. "I'm sorry, but I have a reason this time."

Merlin just rolls his eyes before turning his attention to Morgana, giving her a welcoming smile. Before he's able to say anything another voice chimes in. "Morgana?" the voice calls, making Morgana jump in her spot because she recognizes that voice. When she moves to take a closer look she finds Arthur standing at the front of the bar with Gwaine seated beside him and the tavern owner Merlin standing in between them. She stares at them both, a little wide eyed at first before finally managing to recompose herself. 

"Arthur? What are you doing here?" she asks, moving towards the front counter. 

"Picking up Gwaine after he was knocked unconscious in a bar fight," he says as though it's a common occurrence, which it is. "And you're here because...?" he glances towards Mordred more than a little suspiciously. 

"A fight," she says with a smile, making Arthur immediately tense up with worry. 

He pushes off from the counter, moving towards her in a few quick strides. "Are you alright?" he asks, leaning in to take a good look at her which only makes her roll her eyes at him before pushing the prince away. 

"I'm fine. Mordred here came to my rescue," she says, sending the boy a thankful smile.

Mordred just shifts a little in his spot, uncomfortable with the praise. "Not that you really needed my help," he says with a shrug and a smirk.

Morgana sends him a sweet smile before looking towards the tavern owner. The first thing she notices is the black snake coiled around his neck. Aside from the animal, the mark looks similar to the one on Mordred. Was this a popular fashion choice in Cambria? Or something else? Before she gets the chance to ask Arthur leans in, whispering into her ear. "I thought I told you not to cause a scene?" he says, brows furrowed in both worry and slight anger. 

Morgana glances over to the counter, seeing Gwaine, Merlin, and Mordred now engaged in some conversation, then turns back to Arthur. "I know. I'm sorry, but it was hardly my fault," she replies. 

Arthur sighs, backing away as he stares at something over her shoulder. It's not until he looks away that she realizes he was looking through the window at the arena in the distance. "I'm just glad you're alright."

She smiles at him, reaching up to smooth down mussed hair. "I'm fine. Besides you look like you've been in a fight yourself," she says with a chuckle. 

"He was!" Gwaine shouts over to her, grinning the most amused grin she's ever seen the man have on his face. "And he lost!" 

Arthur turns on Gwaine, clearly about to tear his tongue out as Morgana sends the prince a teasing smirk. "Oh? So someone finally managed to put him in his place. Who was it?" she asks, not only trying to tease the prince but also because she's genuinely interested. No matter how much she likes to poke fun at the idea, no one can deny that Arthur is an amazing swordsman. Someone who can beat him is a force to be reckoned with. 

Gwaine points over his shoulder at Merlin, who's smirking devilishly at the prince who's currently holding the knight in a strangle hold. "Now, now," the boy says, prying the arm off the poor knight, "there's no shame for a prince to lose to a bartender."

Arthur frowns at him, dropping Gwaine before placing both hands on the bar counter and leaning across the table until their faces are only inches apart. Despite the jab, which Morgana had expected Arthur to throw a fit over, the prince smiles at the boy. He smiles an open smile, one that seems to show everything. It's a smile that she's only ever really seen directed at her and the sight of the usually pompous prince grinning at a common peasant as though he were his equal amazes her more than anything that has happened that day. She wonders if Arthur even realizes himself how much he's smiling.

"I told you already. Next time, I'll win," Arthur says, voice challenging.

Merlin returns the look, a smirk on his face as he raises an eyebrow. "I'll be right here whenever you're ready."

The two stare each other down, clearly forgetting the others around them as they start to have a competition right then and there. Morgana sighs, shaking her head at the pair before putting a hand on either of their chests and pushing them apart. "I'm sorry to interrupt, but I need to return to the market to find Gwen and Lancelot. I'm sure they're wondering where I've wandered off to," she says, looking towards Arthur.

The prince, a little reluctant to go, pulls back. He gives Merlin a look as though to say 'we'll continue this later' before turning towards the door. "Alright, Gwaine and I'll escort you. I don't want you getting into another fight," he says, gesturing towards Gwaine.

The knight gives Merlin a nod before leaping off his seat, heading towards the door with a slight skip in his step. "I'll lead you back. I was the one who dragged you off," Mordred says, looking a little embarrassed before turning to follow.

"Um..." Merlin says from behind the counter, making them all turn to look at him as he holds up a piece of parchment, "your royal pratness, I think you're forgetting something."

Arthur frowns at his words. "I don't know what that is."

Merlin rolls his eyes at the prince. "The bill? Did you think this was all free?"

\------

The next time Morgana meets Mordred she's out in the town once again. This time, however, she's alone in the streets as she wanders aimlessly with no particular destination in mind. As much as she despises the place she has to admit that Cambria is beautiful, though beautiful only on the outside. 

She knows she shouldn't be out and about alone in the town, especially after what happened yesterday. Despite the previous days incident however, she still found herself sneaking out the castle on her own, not wanting to stay within its confined walls for much longer. She would have brought someone with her like Lancelot, Leon, or even Gwaine would have sufficed, but they had all gone out to the training field together early in the morning and to her knowledge are still there now. Arthur, on the other hand, has once again disappeared after breakfast. Odd of him, considering the fact that he's usually training in the mornings. 

Morgana makes it about half way through the town when a familiar face smiles at her from amidst the crowd, moving towards her as he waves in her direction. "Morgana!" Mordred calls cheerily, coming to walk along side her, "are you alone again?" 

Morgana smiles at the boy, happy to see him. She was just starting to feel bored all alone. "I'm afraid so. Couldn't find anyone to accompany me," she says with a slight pout. 

"Well," Mordred says with a grin and a bow, "allow me to accompany you."

Mordred proceeds to take her around the town, pointing out the most beautiful sights or the best places to find the freshest fruit. Despite his haphazard way of guiding her through Cambria she finds herself enjoying every moment of it. They zip through the streets together without a care in the world, heading from one end of the town back to the other without much of a destination in mind. It's not until they come close to the arena that her calm day takes a turn for the worst. 

Mordred had just stopped in front of the gates of the arena, staring up at the structure with a look of displeasure in his eyes while Morgana comes to a stop beside him. A thousand things seem to run through his mind at that moment, a thousand things that Morgana may never understand as she stares at him from her spot beside him. Seeing the shift in the mood, she pulls on a gloved hand, pointing towards a small flower shop in the opposite direction. "Why don't we take a look over there?" she asks, a small smile on her face as she begins to pull him away, watching as the mist leaves his eyes and a smile returns. 

He opens his mouth to answer, however, just before any words can come out a loud call echoes around the plaza. "There! The sorcerer!" 

The word 'sorcerer' immediately sends Morgana over the edge. Her breathing quickens and her head snaps in the direction of the voice, wondering who could have found her out, who could have discovered what she is. She hadn't dared to use her magic at all while she's been here. Had she? Did something slip while she wasn't looking? Instinctively, she let's go of Mordred's hand, backing away from the source of the voice with her face pale and her hands shaking. Mordred watches her stumble backwards, a hurt expression on his face as she staggers away and for a moment there seems to be a hint of something else in his eyes. Something like anger. Pointed in her direction. 

When the guards finally descend upon them she's taken by surprise because instead of grabbing her they move to grab Mordred. The knights wrestle him towards the ground, some using both arms to pin him down while others brandish whips that snap in his direction. She can hear him growl at them, struggling against the grip of the five men who, with strength in numbers, easily overpower him. Then, within only a brief second, she catches his eyes flash gold, a brilliant gold that makes her own powers thrum inside her. She watches how the ground begins to tremble a little around him, how the pebbles start to rise above the Earth as though they're coming to life and the sheer power makes her gape in awe, wanting to see more, to know more. However, almost as quickly as it had started, the whip comes down upon his back, striking him until the gold fades away and the rocks fall to the ground, life drained from its system. 

Despite the scene before her the first thing she does is let out a breath of relief. They hadn't been after her. However, within the following second shame weighs down on her, shame and anger. She takes a step forward, keeping her expression level as she looks the knights all in the eye. "Please, stand down," she says, mimicking Uther's commanding voice, "this man has done no one any harm."

The knight with the whip stops, turning towards her with a puzzled look. "My lady," he says with a slight bow, "I'm afraid you are mistaken. We have received a complaint from one of our own that this sorcerer had assaulted him."

At first Morgana wants to say he's wrong, that Mordred would never hurt anyone when she remembers the knight from the previous day. That little coward and snitched. "That knight had been harassing me. Mordred merely came to my aid. It was an act of defence."

The knight presses a little harder down on Mordred, making the boy groan with pain as he turns to look up at Morgana, the hurt and anger gone from his eyes now as he looks at her. "I'm afraid that does not change anything," the knight says with a shake of his head, "Sorcerer's do not have the same rights as you or I. They are forbidden from harming anyone, whether it be for self defence or not. Any sorcerer who does not obey shall be punished severely. The sorcerer should know that."

The knight doesn't wait for her response. Instead he gestures with a hand to his fellow knights, ordering them to hoist Mordred up to his feet as they drag him off towards the arena. Morgana takes a step forward, wanting to chase after him when a quick look from Mordred leaves her frozen in place. His eyes pierce into her, giving her a warning, an order to stay back and leave him be. She balls her hands into fists at her sides as she watches them pull the boy away, watches them drag him into the arena where she's not even sure what they'll do. Taking him in to fight would be the most likely option. 

Without wasting another second Morgana turns towards the castle, sprinting through the crowd as fast as she can in a dress. If the knights refuse to let him go, then she'll plead with the man in charge. 

It takes awhile, but after much questioning of the servants Morgana manages to track down the King of Cambria. Morgana bursts through the door to the king's chambers, not bothering to knock or be invited in as she strolls inside. The room is about the size of Uther's chambers and with just as much extravagance. The furniture is all imported from elsewhere, making the room appear almost foreign in the Cambrian castle. Instead of the red sheets that Morgana had grown so accustomed to seeing in Camelot she finds Alden's room covered in a forest green which mixes well with the wooden furniture. As Morgana walks further into the room she finds the man sitting quietly in a chair, reading a book with a candle beside him. He sits up a little straighter at her entrance, turning to meet her stare with skeptical eyes before his face turns into a smile. "Morgana!" he says, setting the book down on a nearby table, "how are you? Did you need something?"

"Your guards arrested a young man not an hour ago," she says, "I have come to plead for his innocence."

Alden leans back now in his seat, looking up at her peculiarly. He doesn't reply, simply waiting for her to continue. 

"One of your knights harassed me in the market and this young man came to my aid. He does not deserve the punishment that he is about to receive. Please, tell your men to let him go."

Alden shifts a little in his seat, tapping at his cheek as his eyes skim over Morgana's face, as though searching for some lie in her words. "Who is this... young man?" Alden asks, eyes challenging.

"His name is Mordred."

"Ah, Mordred!" the king says with a laugh, catching Morgana by surprise at his words. Did the king know him? Hope starts to well up inside her at the prospect. If the king knows who Mordred is then he may listen to her request. "That boy... always been the troublemaker. I need to tell Philip to discipline him properly. I don't want any more incidents to happen," the king mutters to himself as he gets up from his chair, walking over to the desk and scribbling a quick letter onto a piece of parchment. 

"My lord?" Morgana asks timidly, watching as the king stuffs the letter into his pocket, "About Mordred..."

"Ah, yes," Alden says, patting her on the shoulder, "I'm afraid your appeal has no merit with his kind."

Morgana takes a moment to stare at him, both confused and angered at his words, "What do you mean his kind?" she demands, pushing his hand away. "He is a person like the rest of us is he not?"

Alden smiles at her words, his eyes dancing with amusement at her ignorance to the world. "I think you misunderstand something, my dear. He is no person. He's a sorcerer. A warlock!" The king laughs, as though it were funny to even say the word 'person' and 'sorcerer' together. "He doesn't have any rights. If the knights say he was misbehaving than he'll be punished for it. He should have known the rules."

Morgana has to suppress the magic that flares within her. She clenches her hands at her sides, waiting for the anger to subside, but it doesn't. It stays within her, locked away in a bottle that nears its breaking point, a bottle that holds on only so it can increase the casualties of those nearby when it finally explodes. She grits her teeth as she stares at the king and his cruel smile, his winning expression that seems to see exactly what she feels. "You nor your knights have proof that he is a sorcerer!" she says, trying to keep her voice level, "how can you punish a man with no evidence?"

Alden chuckles at her words, "They're all registered, names written down and stored away in the archives. I can simply pull out the list to confirm it. Do not doubt me, Morgana. I know very sorcerer who steps foot in this kingdom. Every. Single. One." Again the king reaches out, patting her on the shoulder. "Sorcerer's do not have rights here," Alden says, a teasing lilt in his voice, as he looks her up and down, watching her shake. "But that shouldn't concern you, now should it?"

The king eyes her skeptically, watching every small movement, every small twitch that would give her away. Morgana tries for a smile, knowing that even with this the king wouldn't be fooled. He was a man of observation, one that could catch the magic in someone who doesn't even know they had it. She sees the look in his eyes as he walks away from her, that look of triumph and confirmation as though he had just solved the greatest mystery of all the lands. "I do hope you'll enjoy the Tournament, my dear," he says, a small smirk tugging at the corner of his lips as he opens the door, "I'll be sure to save you one of the best spots. One right in the centre of all the action."


	4. Catch me When I Fall

The moment Arthur realizes he's starting to spend more time in a tavern, or at least in one particular tavern, than Gwaine he has a few seconds of panic in the middle of the streets of Cambria. He didn't think much of it at first, after all he never chose to visit the tavern on his own accord. His legs tended to move on their own, telling him that they're only bringing him out for a walk before leading him to the front steps of the little bar. By the time he registers where he is he finds himself inside and seated at the front counter, looking at the smiling face of the warlock and at that point he doesn't have the willpower to leave so he stays to chat. It's not that he didn't enjoy his more than frequent visits to the tavern, quite the contrary actually. He enjoyed them a lot, enjoyed them way more than he should, and yet when the realization hit him in the middle of town he couldn't help but flush with embarrassment. How often had he gone? It must be at least once everyday for the past four days, maybe even twice on some days. He wonders what Merlin must think when he sees the prince appear at the tavern almost everyday to bother him. Merlin must see him as a pest at this point.

Despite these thoughts running through his head, somehow he still manages to find himself outside the door to Merlin's tavern, staring up at the sign that sways back and forth in the wind. A parchment, stuck on the front of the tavern, reads 'away', meaning Merlin's most likely busy today - or perhaps he's trying to keep Arthur out. That's an option as well.

The prince sighs, not knowing what to do now as he walks back the way he came, kicking a few pebbles along the way. Pent up energy bubbles inside him, wanting to burst out from the seams as he starts to fiddle with the sword at his belt. His body has grown so accustomed to training in the morning that he always grows agitated when he doesn't head out to the field after breakfast and today is no exception. These last few days he's managed to nab Merlin as his sparring partner and he had been hoping that today would be no different. Sparring with the warlock has given the prince some of the best few training sessions he's had in a long while because, unlike many of his knights, the warlock is able to put up a good fight, a fight that actually requires him to put in more effort than usual. Unfortunately, with Merlin gone that means he'll have to return to the castle in order to find someone else to train with and he doubts they'll even hold a candle to Merlin's abilities.

With another sigh Arthur trudges on, debating whether or not he should come again later in the day when he spots a certain dark haired warlock coming down the road. Immediately, Arthur finds his mood lifting and he quickly weaves through the crowd. "Merlin!" he calls, a smile on his face as he bounds over to find the boy holding two barrels, likely filled with ale, in his arms, struggling a little under the weight of them both. The warlock jumps a little at his voice, almost tripping over his legs before catching himself. He looks up to find Arthur and a smile spreads across his face as he attempts to wave at the prince.

"Good morning, your highness," he says when Arthur approaches, and as usual the prince is amazed at the boy's abilities to make even 'your highness' sound mocking. "I didn't expect to see you here."

"I didn't expect to see you either," he says with a smile, "here let me help." He takes one of the barrels from Merlin's arms, hoisting it over his shoulder while ignoring the warlock's protest.

It doesn't take long for Merlin to give in with a sigh and turn to lead them down the road back to his tavern, much to the prince's surprise. He had expected more of a fight from the young warlock, perhaps a few teasing insults thrown his way before the boy would finally relent. Yet, here Merlin is walking away without another word, his shoulders slumped a little as he walks along the path. Arthur frowns as he walks behind Merlin, finding the warlock's silence strange. He may have only met the boy four days ago, but during that time he's always known him to be rather talkative, easy going, and hilarious. However, this Merlin here is different. He's quiet, stoic, and Arthur swears he looks nervous, as though someone would pounce on him at any second. That would explain why the warlock jumped when Arthur called out to him earlier.

With a determined look the prince walks up beside Merlin, glancing around for a moment at the passerby's before asking, "Are you alright? You look a little... odd today."

Merlin sends him a quick glance before looking away. "I'm fine," he replies then remains silent.

Again, Arthur frowns. He knows there's something bothering him. That answer was too short, too quick to cut off the conversation and the thought worries the prince to no end. So, instead of asking again Arthur grabs onto Merlin's wrist, stopping him in his tracks in the middle of the busy street making a number of the nearby peasants glare at them in annoyance. At this point Arthur didn't care. He just wants to know what's bothering his friend.

Merlin however, doesn't take the action lightly. He swipes the prince's hand away easily, glaring at Arthur with eyes that could kill and perhaps he was prepared to do so. Yet, strangest of all, the look dies away almost instantly. Merlin's eyes flit about the street, looking at everything around him as though the sheer noise and activity scared him. He seems to see something out of the corner of his eye, something that makes his eyes widen and body freeze. Arthur can see the boy's chest heaving up and down, breathing rapidly as his eyes start to search for a way out. Seeing him in such a state makes Arthur want to reach out, to grab him and hold him close so that nothing can touch him. However, before the prince can even make a move Merlin turns, tugging on the collar of his tunic before walking briskly away, ignoring his calls as he almost runs through the crowd.

All Arthur can do is watch him go, watch him disappear into the mass of people as though he were the moon being chased out of the sky by the rising sun. Arthur's eyes follow the boy as he moves through the crowd, noting how Merlin constantly pulls at his tunic in order to hide the mark along his collar. Again, the prince's mind grows curious at the action, wondering why he tried so desperately to cover it. Mordred had one too, except his had been the mark of a raven rather than a snake. With a quick look over his own shoulder Arthur makes his way towards Merlin's tavern, mind still racing with the dozens of questions in his mind.

\------

Arthur sets the barrel down by the doorstep as he peers through the window, wondering whether the warlock is already inside or had taken another, longer, route to get here. When he isn't able to get a clear view he knocks on the door, stepping back to wait as he looks around, still anxious about what could have gotten Merlin so afraid. The prince is snapped back into attention when the bolt behind the door is lifted and the door opens, revealing Merlin standing inside with a small smile on his face, one that Arthur can clearly tell is forced. "Arthur," Merlin says, glancing towards the barrel at the prince's feet, "I... sorry. I'm sorry I made you carry that all the way here."

Arthur returns the smile, "It wasn't a problem. May I come in?" he asks, only moving to enter when he receives a nod from Merlin.

Arthur lifts up the barrel and walks through the door, hearing it click shut behind him almost the moment he enters. Merlin walks past him without another word, merely gesturing towards the corner of the room where the other barrel sits before moving back to the bar and pouring himself a drink. Arthur sets the barrel down, still watching the warlock out of the corner of his eyes as he tries to come up with the best way to bring up the topic.

"Merlin," he says, moving over to the bar while Merlin still keeps his back turned in his direction, "Wh-"

"Do you want to spar?" Merlin asks suddenly, interrupting the prince mid-sentence as he sets the tankard down.

"Oh, um... sure," he replies, looking at Merlin a little quizzically as the warlock smiles and leads him out the back door of the tavern towards the small, grassy field where various benches and tables wait.

With a wave of his hand Merlin pushes the tables and benches aside, clearing a circular area where they can train without destroying anything. Merlin walks over to the weapons rack, taking a blunted sword and handing it to Arthur before grabbing his own and walking over to the field. Merlin doesn't give the prince any chance to ask questions because by the time Arthur stands in position the warlock has already charged at him. Arthur frowns, blocking the blow easily before countering with a thrust of his own. Merlin stumbles back, eyes burning with a fire that the prince can't exactly place. What's wrong? Had he done something to incur the boy's wrath? Before Arthur can question him much further Merlin has regained his footing and is charging at him again. Like last time, Arthur finds the strike easy to sidestep and that makes him even more worried. They've sparred a number of times before and never has Merlin been this careless, this easy to predict. The boy has always been crafty, able to feint or change his tactics at the very last moment to keep a person on their toes. Yet, today he's different. He's charging in blindly. He's leaving too many openings that Arthur can exploit.

The prince, with a quick punch to the stomach, brings Merlin down on the ground coughing as he tries to regain his breath. Arthur stabs his blade into the dirt, hardly tired at all as he walks over to Merlin. Even stranger. He's never beaten Merlin before. Especially not this easily.

"Merlin," he says, crouching down beside the boy as he sits up on the grass with a hand over his chest, "I know something's bothering you. What is it?"

The warlock looks away, not wanting to meet Arthur's eyes as he remains silent.

Arthur, growing frustrated, sits down on the grass beside him. "Merlin," he says again, keeping his eyes locked with the warlock's, "I know I can't beat you this easily. If there's something wrong I want you to tell me."

When Merlin still says nothing Arthur sighs, looking down at the blades of grass between his feet. "Are we not friends?" he asks the question silently, but that seems to grab Merlin's attention.

The warlock turns around to face him, eyes looking tired but not exactly painful which Arthur supposes is a good sign. "We are... friends," Merlin says a little hesitantly. "I..." The boy sighs before continuing, reaching up to tug at his tunic once again to hide the mark. "I suppose that's why I don't want to tell you."

"Whatever it is, it won't make me think any less of you," Arthur replies, eyebrows furrowing as he watches Merlin's movements. "No matter what it is."

Merlin stares off into the distance, stares off towards the arena that looms up and above his tavern. Arthur wonders what he must be thinking whenever he looks up at that structure. "I know," Merlin says as he turns away, gazing back down at the expanse of the small field, "but that doesn't make it any easier."

Arthur glances over to Merlin, noting his slumped shoulders and tired eyes. All signs that something's wrong, that something's bothering him. Regardless of his good intentions, the prince knows he shouldn't pry and so opts to throw an arm around the boy's shoulder, tugging him in close with a smile. "Come on," he says while pulling them both up to their feet, "I'll make us some breakfast. How does that sound?"

Merlin looks at him, a small smile playing on his lips as he chuckles. "You can cook?"

The prince shrugs as he guides them both back into the tavern. "It can't be that hard."

\------

It turned out that cooking was a lot harder than Arthur had anticipated if the state of Merlin's kitchen isn't clear about that on its own. Merlin smiles to himself, shaking his head a little as his magic helps him to reorder the kitchen. A broom sweeps the floor all on its own while wet cloths wipe away at the dirty dishes and a spatula scraps the blackened meat off the bottom of the pan. The warlock has his feet propped up on the table, reading a novel as the appliances complete their respective tasks. Arthur had left a short while ago after almost burning down his entire tavern, remembering that he had an appointment with his father before running off with a quick apology and a promise to pay him back later. Merlin wasn't angry at Arthur. Why would he be? He knows the prince had only been trying to cheer him up, and honestly just remembering Arthur's face as the pan lit on fire made the warlock smile. He chuckles to himself, covering his face with the book that he isn't actually reading.

When his fit of giggles finally stops he takes a look at the room around him. The broom and cloth are both lying lifeless on the floor, having finished their task while the spatula continues to scrape the pan, making no progress from what Merlin can tell. With a wave of his hand the spatula drops into a bucket of water, leaving the pan alone so that it can fly into the trash. He can always get another pan later.

Merlin gets to his feet, stretching with arms above his head as he contemplates what to do. He hadn't been planning on opening today, but perhaps he will. A few customers would help keep his mind distracted, would help keep him from thinking about the days to come. As the warlock walks out from the kitchen and towards the front door to flip the sign he notices just how quiet the tavern is without Arthur around to accompany him. It's not like he never had friends come over before the prince. Mordred frequented the joint often, not as often as Arthur, but often enough and Merlin had always enjoyed his company whenever possible. He never used to think of his tavern as lonely, but now that he stares at the empty room with nothing except chairs and tables he can't shake the feeling.

Merlin glances out the window by the door, watching as the people pass by his tavern without much of a care. They go about their business, moving through their day to day tasks without even a second glance in his direction. Yet, despite this he still feels the eyes on him. He feels them pointed in his direction, watching his every move as though he were a spectacle on display. He shrinks away from the window, pressing his back against the wall as he takes a few deep breaths. Perhaps he won't open today after all.

With a sigh Merlin trudges over to the bar, grabbing a mug from the shelf and filling it with ale. He takes a long drink, downing the entire tankard in one gulp before pouring himself another cup. It's only after his third or fourth drink the he realizes that this was the longest he's ever gone without drinking.

\------

Merlin doesn't know how long he's out for, but by the time he opens his eyes he finds himself in his bed with Arthur sitting in a chair beside him, fiddling with something in his hands. The warlock groans, rubbing at his head for a moment before sitting up. His head pounds for a few moments before the feeling fades away and he can turn to look at Arthur properly. The prince is already facing him, having heard him stir earlier. The blonde hands him a cup of water, a small smile on his face. "Are you alright?" he asks.

Merlin takes the cup, taking small sips. "I'm fine," he says, "how long have I been out?"

Arthur shrugs, glancing out the window. "I came last night to find you passed out on the bar counter. You woke when I came in, but you were more drunk than Gwaine so I put you to bed."

Merlin rubs the sleep from his eyes, looking down at himself to find his clothes rumpled and wrinkled. He frowns at the sight of the mark along his collar and instinctively he tugs at his tunic, covering it up as best he can. The action catches Arthur's attention, however. The prince reaches out and for a moment Merlin tenses. His mind spins in his head, already running through the various scenarios in his mind. If Arthur moves to pull at his tunic to see the mark he'll throw the prince back with a spell. Or perhaps he'll just grab his arm and twist it, threatening to snap the bone unless he let go.

Despite all the possibilities that run through the warlock's head none had predicted what Arthur moved to do. Merlin feels a smooth cloth brush across his skin, the silky fabric wrapping around his neck before it's tied gently behind him. When Arthur backs away he smiles, looking proud of himself. "Now, you don't have to keep tugging at your tunic," he says, readjusting the front of the cloth so that it rests nicely around his neck and collar.

Merlin looks down, noting the bright red of the cloth as he fingers the fabric, feeling the texture roll across his skin. The cloth almost perfectly hides the mark, obscuring it from the view of most. He looks over to Arthur, seeing the bright smile on his face as those blue eyes stare at him, taking him in, and for some reason the sight of it sends the blood running straight to his cheeks. They flush under the prince's scrutinizing gaze, making the boy avert his gaze back down to the fabric as his tongue fumbles for the right words. For the first time in a long while he doesn't know what to say, doesn't know how to respond. He thinks through a hundred - a thousand different things that he could say, but in the end the only thing that it capable of coming out of his mouth is a simple "thank you."

Arthur doesn't seem to mind, he just gives the warlock that bright smile that Merlin never realized made his heart flutter before. "You're welcome," he says and the words make the warlock's cheeks turn the same shade of red as the new neckerchief around his neck.


	5. Branded

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry for the long wait! At last here's the newest chapter and hopefully I'll be able to update more regularly again >.<

 

Arthur trudges slowly behind the pair of kings, tuning out Alden's voice as he leads them down the main path of the city. As Alden had promised a week earlier, he's giving them a tour of the arena before the start of the tournament. However, aside from Uther, neither the prince nor Morgana are interested. Uther walks right alongside Alden as they make their way to the circular arena, listening intently to his old friend as Alden explains how the arena had been built. Morgana, from what Arthur can see, appears to be preoccupied with something else. She keeps mumbling to herself, sending suspicious glances towards Alden as she walks beside Arthur. The prince had tried a number of times to get the witch's attention, however, she never heard him, always thinking of something else. 

With a resigned sigh Arthur glances around at his surroundings, deciding that if they were all going to ignore him than he might as well do the same. The sun is up today, shining down brightly upon the buildings that surround them. Most of the townsfolk have their eyes on the royals, whispering excitedly amongst themselves as they watch their king pass. There seems to be much more people than usual today, making the town feel even more crowded as they weave through the streets. He supposes many visitors have come far and wide to watch the Tournament tomorrow. After all there's even a feast tonight to celebrate. 

Arthur frowns at the thought of the feast. He didn't want to go. Especially not when Alden is the one hosting the event. He knows that all he'll hear during the meal is talk of the Tournament, of bets and wagers as they pit sorcerer against sorcerer. No doubt they'll ask him to place his bets as well, wanting to know who the foreign prince thinks will win. Maybe he can sneak away before the feast. Feign an illness and stay in his chambers. 

Arthur heaves another sigh, wondering what he could do when Merlin's tavern catches his eye. He turns to find it  closed, not much of a surprise. The warlock's been quiet for the last few days, not willing to do much of anything other than spar. He still invites Arthur in with a welcoming smile, however he hasn't seen Merlin open the tavern to others for the past two days. Arthur knows there's something bothering him. There has to be. But Merlin always chooses to keep to himself, not willing to share much. Arthur suspects that his foul mood has something to do with the Tournament. Merlin's a warlock after all. It would be everyone's first guess. However, as to what in particular the prince can't be sure. For a brief moment he feels the urge to run over, to knock on the door so he can see Merlin's smiling face once again. However, before he gets the chance, he hears Uther calling him over and he has no choice but to walk away. 

\------

"And welcome," Alden says with his arms spread wide, "to the arena!"

Arthur stares with wide eyes at the stadium, turning in place as he gazes in awe at the rows upon rows of seats that surround him. King Alden had taken them up to the royal seats where two large thrones and two smaller ones await in a boxed out area, separated from the rest of the crowd. The spot provided the perfect view of the entire stadium below, allowing the occupants to see everything that happened within the ring.

From Arthur's place up top he's able to look down at the men and women training below. He finds practice dummies cluttered around one edge where a few warriors are training. They hack and slash away at the straw, cutting it into tiny pieces before turning around and facing another. Others near the centre of the arena spar with one another using shields, swords, axes, maces, or any other weapon Arthur can think of. Some of the fighters are better than others, being able to knock down their fellow warriors with one slash of their weapon while others can barely stand under the weight of their armour. The scene is reminiscent of one he sees on the training grounds in Camelot frequently except for two major differences. One is the large number of guards that surround the edges of the arena, both above as well as below, and the gates leading inside. The guards in the stadium stand as still as statues, watching the people inside train while they keep their hands on their swords. Archers patrol up high, their bows at the ready as they watch closely. The other major difference is the use of magic. He can see the fighters fly across the ground without so much as a kick. He sees fire conjured in the palms of sorcerers before being sent towards an opponent. Arthur finds himself watching the sorcerers fight, studying their movements, learning how they work. He's intrigued at their abilities, about how they're able to cast spells while in the middle of combat, however before he loses himself in his own thoughts he feels Morgana grasp his wrist.

Arthur looks over, seeing the way she pales at the sight of the sorcerers. She seems to hide behind him, cowering at the people below. He sets a gentle hand on her back, trying to calm her down as he tugs her a little closer to him, wanting to make sure no one would harm her. "Is something wrong?" he asks in a whisper, keeping his eyes focused on the arena below.

Morgana glances over to where Uther stands with Alden, the latter pointing and gesturing with his hands as he explains more about how he established the Tournament. She turns back towards the arena below, staring at the guards who stand along the walls before taking a deep breath and steeling her nerves. "I'm fine. I was just... overwhelmed is all," she says, though judging from her expression Arthur doubts she's fine. However, he doesn't pry, knowing that she would tell him when she's ready.

"Come this way," Alden says, gesturing to the pair as he and Uther make their way down the steps, "there is still plenty to see."

Alden leads the group down the stairs, gesturing and pointing on their way down at the various engravings on the walls. Once they reach the bottom the king leads them towards the arena. Arthur doesn't fail to notice the way all the sorcerers stop when the king enters, turning to look at them with blank eyes before giving a reluctant bow. Alden smiles at them all, waving a hand for the sorcerers to return to training however the prince is able to see through the King's smile. He sees the way Alden looks at them, as though they're a pet, something expendable.

Alden turns towards his guests as the sorcerers behind him return to their training. A few watch them out of the corners of their eyes as they walk past, however with a single look from the king they turn away, pretending not to notice. Alden looks to them all with a smile, "Welcome to the main arena! This is where all the fun happens," he says as he laughs at his own words and Arthur doesn't miss the way a few of the sorcerers look at him, like they wanted to strangle him. "I'm sure, as you can all see, when the Tournament isn't being hosted this is a training field for the contestants. They hone their skills here before testing themselves in the Tournament. Don't worry, Lady Morgana. No harm will come to you here." He sends her a wink before leading them through the arena.

Morgana shivers at the words before following, making sure to stay close to Arthur as they walk through the crowd. Now that he's down in the arena Arthur realizes just how many guards are posted. Upon his first inspection he finds that the guards outnumber the sorcerers at least four to one. Not only that, but all the guards are heavily armed. They have shields in one hand, a sword and whip on their belt, and spears in the other hand. All have their attention firmly planted on the sorcerers, watching each and every move closely. Alden hadn't been lying when he said there's no need to worry about the sorcerers. With this many guards no one would dare act out, especially if the guards have been trained to kill sorcerers.

Uther frowns as he follows behind his companion, sneering at each of the sorcerers that pass him by. "You allow them to roam about freely like this?" he asks.

Alden shrugs, a devilish smile on his face. "It keeps them... quiet I suppose you could say. If I keep them all locked away in cages they'll act out. Grow angry, impatient. Giving them some freedom helps keep them tame. Besides, they understand the consequences that come with disobeying."

"Consequences?" Morgana asks, voice barely audible over the clang of metal, "What do you mean?"

Alden, again, just smirks. "That, my lady, is something you don't wish to hear. Now come," he puts an arm around her shoulders, guiding her back towards the inside of the arena where the contestants prepare. "Allow me to show you the inside."

As Alden leads the group away Arthur finds himself lingering for a moment longer in the stadium. He stares at the sorcerers, watching them fight and train just as any other knight. They dress in chainmail, have swords sheathed to their belts, and helmets covering their heads. If none were using magic just a short distance away from him he would think they were the same as any old knights. Why do people fail to see that?

Arthur is about to turn to leave when he catches something out of the corner of his eye. A mark. A tattoo. He turns to look, squinting a little at the mark clearly visible along the sorceresses neck. The mark looked like that of a bear, its arms spread wide as though ready to tear its opponents to shreds. Now, that he looks closely, almost every sorcerer nearby has a black mark poking out from their chainmail. The girl, having clearly noticed his earlier staring, walks over to him, eyes narrowed. "What?" she demands.

Arthur takes a step back, holding both his hands up in surrender. "I'm sorry I was just..." he can't find an excuse as the girl stares up into his eyes, her gaze menacing, wanting to kill. "I was curious about the mark on your neck," he says honestly, but almost the second the words come out he finds a dagger pointed towards his neck. The sorcerers around him all gasp in horror, staggering backwards as they turn to run, to hide from what must be bound to happen because within a heartbeat the guards surge forward, knocking the dagger from the girl's hand and manhandling her to the ground. A few of the guards pull Arthur back, bringing him to safety as both Alden and Uther come towards him.

"Arthur!" Uther calls, rushing over to his side, "are you hurt?"

The prince shakes his head, looking down to find the girl scowling at his feet and immediately he feels guilty. He wants to push the guards away and apologize for his behaviour. He had been insensitive and asked about a private matter. He was partially at fault. However, before he can act, Alden comes up to the girl, staring down at her with eyes that could kill. "Take her away. I shall deal with her personally for harming my guests," the king says and the guards nod, pulling the girl to her feet.

Just before the guards are able to drag her off Arthur reaches out, not caring that his father is watching, and stops them. "No, it's fine. I'm fine, there's no need to harm her," he says, looking down at the girl who stares up at him with curious eyes.

Alden turns to look at him and his eyes are cold, just for a brief moment, before they return to their usual cheer. "There's no need to feel any sympathy, boy. She's a sorcerer. Nothing more. She should have known better than to attack," Alden says with a smile.

Arthur doesn't get a chance to argue because his father, with a look of disappointment, quickly pulls him away, guiding him towards the inside of the arena where Morgana waits. However, the small look of gratitude sent his way by Morgana is enough to make him feel a little better about himself, but only just a little.

Once they're all within the walls of the arena the gate closes behind them, leaving the group alone once again save for a few guards. Arthur glances about, staring at the racks of weapons and armour as they wind their way through the inside, hoping to distract himself so he would stop thinking about the sorcerers. Their tour eventually leads them to an even lower level of the arena, one where even the light doesn't touch. With only one look around the prince can tell that whatever happens down here is meant to stay down here.

The ground is old and worn, nothing like the cleanly paved stone floor on the upper levels. A few torches light the length of the hall, but otherwise there's nothing to help see in the dark. No windows, no sunlight, no nothing. Uther glances around, eyebrow raised in question as Alden strides down the hall as though this were just another stop in the tour.

"What's down here?" Arthur asks, following behind the king as he tries to search for any clues that could point him towards an answer.

Alden grabs a torch from off the wall, using it to light the path ahead of them. The fire casts an eerie shadow along the man's face, causing shivers to run down the prince's spine as he follows behind, bracing himself for what could possibly be in the lower levels. "Sorcerers," Alden says, as though that were as obvious of an answer as potatoes, "this is where we keep the sorcerers who haven't been ah..." he waves a hand in front of him, trying to find the words, "...chosen. I suppose that's a nicer word."

Morgana swallows thickly, taking a deep breath through her nostrils as she composes herself for what is surely to come and Arthur does too, as he's able to guess what sort of scene will appear before him. The only problem is that it's worse. So much worse.

The moment Alden opens the door to the room Arthur is hit with the sight of rows upon rows of cages. They're littered across the otherwise barren room, leaving only a narrow path weaving between each one for guards to walk around. There must be around five or six people cramped into a single small cage, all with iron shackles on their arms and legs to keep them from running. They wear threadbare clothes which hang off their bodies as they hunch in the corners, watching with tired eyes as Alden strolls in as though everything is perfectly normal. Uther too, just stares with a satisfied smirk, as though he were amazed at the amount of sorcerers his fellow king had been able to capture.

"These are the sorcerers," Alden says, as though afraid his guests wouldn't be able to tell they were human which, Arthur supposes, Alden didn't. "They're our prized Tournament contenders. Though, as you can see they are clearly not fit to fight," he says with a laugh as he kicks the nearest one with his boot, making the poor girl shriek and Morgana almost surge forward with the intent to kill. However, Arthur holds out a hand, keeping her back as he silently shakes with his own anger and disgust.

"What is this all for?" Arthur asks, eyes narrowed, "I though you said they were allowed to roam freely?"

Alden just smirks at him, "Ah, but see that's only after they've been chosen. The sorcerers you saw training earlier are that ones that are... owned. They've been bought by a noble and trained to fight in the Tournament to win some gold, if they can survive that is. You can pick a sorcerer and send them in to compete as well. All that needs to be done to make it official is to brand them as yours."

"So they're slaves?" Morgana asks, tone accusing.

"I like to call them prisoners with jobs," Alden says with a smile. "The Tournament is in a few days time. If you'd like, Uther my old friend, feel free to pick a champion. It's most exciting to enter in your own contestant and watch them battle."

Uther laughs, smiling. "I appreciate the offer, however I doubt a few days will be enough to train anyone to be successful in a battle."

Alden laughs as well, clapping a hand on the back of the other king. "That is indeed true. My own champion needed to train at least a year before he could take down his first man."

As Uther begins to ask questions as to how Alden keeps the sorcerers locked away Arthur finds his mind drifting to something else. Or, to be more accurate, someone else. He stares at the neck of the sorcerers that sit inside the cages, eyes scanning, searching for the one thing that would help alleviate his fears, but of course he doesn't find it. Why would he? The king had spelled it out for him, clear as day. The sorcerers are captured, locked away here until they are bought by a noble. Once bought they are branded, marked as someone else's possession and forced to fight in the Tournament until they died.

Branded.

A mark.

A tattoo.

_Merlin._

Arthur finds his breathing turning uneven as the truth dawns on him, his anger rising as he watches the kings smile and laugh at the sorcerers around them. Merlin had sat in one of these cages perhaps years and years ago, huddled in one of those corners, alone and afraid about both being chosen and not being chosen. Merlin had been bought, branded by some noble who wanted to watch him fight and die. Merlin had been here once and tomorrow he'll be here again, except this time to either fight or die. It's no surprise now that Merlin could beat him so easily. He had been trained to kill.

Arthur finds himself wanting to reach out, to grasp the kings by their neck and throw them into the cages, to treat them like the true monsters they are. At this moment Arthur forgets that Uther is his father, that both of the men in front of him are kings because right now all he sees are two monsters wearing the skin of a human.

He knows Morgana is tugging at his arm, trying to snap him from his sudden anger, but he ignores her quiet pleas. Instead, he reaches both hands out, watching them inch closer and closer to the kings that stand just a short distance in front of him, unknowing. It would be so easy to just do it, to just be rid of them right now. He could save the sorcerers, save Morgana, save Merlin. Yet, his arms drop at the last moment, returning to their usual position at his sides because he can't. He just can't.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Hope everyone enjoyed the first chapter! The updates for this story might be slow and I'm sorry for that, but I'll try and get a chapter up as fast as I can. 
> 
> Thank you all for reading!


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